


he looks like artwork

by delta_trevino



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aftercare, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Morning After, no actual sex just them caring for each other because that needs to be talked about more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delta_trevino/pseuds/delta_trevino
Summary: “Does it hurt?”“The good kind.”Iwaizumi hums, taking his hand off. His gaze wanders over the rest of Oikawa. He’s a masterpiece of bruises, blues and purples and reds bleeding into pale skin.Or, aftercare fluff and taking care of each other.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 12
Kudos: 209





	he looks like artwork

**Author's Note:**

> i just really love the idea of them taking care of each other. 
> 
> scales of intensity:
> 
> fluff: 8/10  
> angst: 1/10  
> lemon: 7/10 (again, there is no sex scene, but they talk about it and iwaizumi thinks about it)
> 
> tw: bruises, mention of knives and blood (knife play)
> 
> HEADS UP! if you usually read my other stuff, this is quite different. please don't accidently corrupt yourself by reading this because i did that when i was younger. mentions of bdsm and dom/sub.

Iwaizumi wakes up with Oikawa’s head fit to the crook of his shoulder. His fiancée’s breathing is even, steady puffs against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. One of Iwaizumi’s legs is in between Oikawa’s calves, lazily curled up to his body. 

It’s peaceful. It’s one of those mornings where alarms don’t go off because they both have the day off, and it’s easy to sleep until the afternoon. There are busy sparrows outside muted through the window, and Iwaizumi faintly wonders if he should just go back to bed. 

Instead, he slowly lifts a hand and brings it to Oikawa’s mop of hair. It’s a small movement, but feels mountainous because of how still the room is. Compared to the stature of Oikawa’s easy existence and effortless lines that make him look like artwork, Iwaizumi’s fingers are clumsy in his hair. 

He’s lucky Oikawa lets him indulge, let’s him put an imprint on Oikawa’s vibrant canvas of life. 

The first time Oikawa says his name Iwaizumi feels the rumble against his bare chest more than he hears it. 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa mutters again. 

“Yeah?” 

“Sleep.” Oikawa pushes his head into Iwaizumi’s chest. His voice is slurred. 

Iwaizumi presses a kiss to his forehead. “Morning to you too.” 

Oikawa huffs. “Sleep.” 

Iwaizumi only exhales, letting his hand draw mindless circles in Oikawa’s hair. He’s glad it’s cloudy today, so the sun isn’t forcing them to get out of bed.

“How do you feel?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“Iwa-chan. I said to sleep.” Oikawa’s mouth moves against his collarbone. Iwaizumi can feel him stretching under the covers, flexing his joints and squirming closer.

“I’m not stopping you.”

Oikawa turns and squints up at him. “I hate you.” Of course there’s no maliciousness in his voice. It’s too early for that.

“Mmkay.”

“I love you,” Oikawa says just as easily. It's not a kiss, but he presses his lips down on Iwaizumi’s neck. Just a brush, a memory of last night.

“I know.” 

Oikawa nudges Iwaizumi with his head. He wouldn’t let Iwaizumi off the hook so quickly.

“I love you too.” And of course there’s so much love in his voice. It’s never too early for that.

Oikawa squishes closer, as if their bodies can melt into one. Without shirts, maybe they can. Oikawa’s warm, a little glowing cotton ball of light. A finger runs down Iwaizumi’s cheek, tracing the sunspots. He knows because Oikawa’s done this many times before. With his hands, and his lips, and if Iwaizumi’s not mistaken, his eyes from across their living room, their kitchen counter, the rec league’s gym they joined together.

Iwaizumi adores him. Really, too much.

“Oikawa.” 

“Yeah?” 

Iwaizumi props himself up on his elbow, and bends over to kiss Oikawa properly. It’s lazy, it’s warm, it’s casual and he pulls back to find Oikawa’s lips tilted up at him. A warm and happy smile.

Iwaizumi straightens slowly. He flips the covers over to the other side of his bed, exposing Oikawa. 

_Oh._

Oikawa laughs at his expression.

Oh.

Most evidently, are the two handprints on Oikawa’s hips right above his underwear waistband. Blue fingertip bruises that would fit perfectly to Iwaizumi’s hands if he placed them there. They stretch around Oikawa’s hips, gripping and touchy and possessive. 

“That bad?” Oikawa cranes his neck to look down at his body. He grins wryly at the sight. “Not the worst you’ve ever done.” 

“Nope.” Not even close. 

Iwaizumi reaches out to touch them, running his fingers down the outline of the bruises and shape of his hands. They look extra dark compared to Oikawa’s light skin, a stark contrast with the white bedsheets. Iwaizumi ends up pressing his palm to the palm of the bruise, watching the skin ripple. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“The good kind.” 

Iwaizumi hums, taking his hand off. His gaze wanders over the rest of Oikawa. He’s a masterpiece of bruises, blues and purples and reds bleeding into pale skin. 

It’s a miracle Iwaizumi’s allowed to hold Oikawa like this. Like that.

For years, everything Iwaizumi wanted was the one person he couldn’t have. Oikawa, who could get any girl. Who could date anyone. Who was popular, and flirty, and had broken Iwaizumi’s heart as many times as he had repaired it. 

Now that Iwaizumi can hold him, and his heart is the fullest it’s ever been, these marks are tangible, visible evidence Oikawa is his. Evidence he can hold Oikawa, touch him, kiss him, fuck him. So he loves every mark, from the smallest pinch mark to handprints on Oikawa’s hips from helping him ride after Oikawa was crying, begging for Iwaizumi.

Honestly, truly, that’s not the best part. The best part is Oikawa’s smile, the way he’s looking at Iwaizumi now. There’s a little smile on his face, he’s content with this, he’s _happy._

Oikawa’s happy to be with him. 

God. Iwaizumi’s so in love.

Iwaizumi looks away for a second, so Oikawa doesn’t see the confession on his face. Even though they’re engaged. 

“I’m a little itchy,” Oikawa admits. 

“Yeah?” The first set of shibari they got had irritated Oikawa’s skin too much so Iwaizumi went out and bought three. Overkill, Oikawa had said. “Okay.” 

Iwaizumi leans over, reaching into their bedside table. “Does anything hurt?”

“Not really. I’m just a little sore.” 

Iwaizumi feels a sorry floating under his tongue. He used to apologize the morning after he pulled on Oikawa’s hair, after making him so desperate he cried, after slapping his ass red and yanking on restraints. But Oikawa vehemently insisted he didn’t say it. He wanted it. He _liked_ it. 

And Iwaizumi realized he wasn’t sorry, anyway. He also liked it. 

Iwaizumi bypasses an intimately familiar blue bottle for the skin cream jar beside it. It’s for healing and moisturizing skin, something about orange on the front. Oikawa picked it.

“It wasn’t too much yesterday?” 

Oikawa shakes his head. “Of course not. I would’ve said something.” 

Iwaizumi knows Oikawa would’ve. He’s also always checking on Oikawa with their system. Green, yellow, red, and their safeword. They’ve always been okay. 

“Hey.” Oikawa pressed a kiss to Iwaizumi’s other hand that’s propping him up on the bed. “Are you having a dom drop?” 

Iwaizumi pauses. “Don’t think so.” 

“Okay.” Oikawa kisses his fingers again. “Don’t overthink then, stupid.” 

“You’re stupid.”

Oikawa laughs once. It’s not even a good insult, but that’s how it is with them. Jokes don’t have to be good. Insults don’t have to have a meaning. Iwaizumi had once called Oikawa a malfunctioning colander with only two legs that everyone hates and Oikawa had dropped his mug of tea with laughter. Things don’t have to be powerful with them, because they make it meaningful.

Iwaizumi nudges Oikawa over with his hand so he’s lying flat on his back. Oikawa’s hands come to rest behind his head. 

“Kiss me.” 

Iwaizumi does. Oikawa tastes like art, too.

Oikawa watches as Iwaizumi opens the cream’s lid, dipping his fingers in. He rubs the cream into the faint lines from yesterday. Little marks from how Oikawa pulls relentlessly against them, from how Iwaizumi yanks at them. 

Iwaizumi applies the cream over Oikawa’s chest, making sure to work it into the skin. Oikawa hums at the touch, watching Iwaizumi with a patient gaze. 

This is part of their routine. After any scene they’ll make sure to complete the standard aftercare. Showing and sweet words, pressing kisses and cream to anything slapped red, drinking water and checking in repeatedly with each other. Rubbing irritated skin, cleaning their equipment and soaking it, all that. 

But they developed a habit of letting aftercare carry into the next few days too after one particularly harsh scene on Oikawa’s arms. Despite his adamant insistence he was okay with, that he _liked_ the scratches and cuts Iwaizumi had dutifully washed them again and applied antiseptic, until they were healed. Well, only until Oikawa pinned him with that look, begging for the sharp pain coated in sweet, lulling words that pulled him into the riptide. 

And of course Iwaizumi gave it to him. 

Sometimes Oikawa gives. After those days, he likes to take his time massaging Iwaizumi’s wrists, dotting freckles of kisses where the thick bands sat. Although they could get handcuffs lined with fur, Iwaizumi prefers the leather ones; harsher on his wrists that leave marks that just slip under his suit jacket cufflinks. Oikawa has a tendency to hold Iwaizumi’s hands more frequently after those sessions, too. Unconsciously, to run his thumb over the bone on his wrist that’s always sore from thrashing around.

Iwaizumi takes his time, circling the cream around Oikawa’s shoulder and his neck. He leans over to press kisses onto Oikawa’s hickies. 

“This okay?” He vaguely wonders if he went overboard with the little marks. They’re so pretty against Oikawa’s skin though. 

“It’s not like I can see them,” Oikawa says.

“Brat.” It’s slow, easy banter.

“You like it.” There’s a hint of maliciousness now. 

“Maybe.” Iwaizumi presses his thumb into a darker hickey. “Do they feel alright?” 

“Yeah, all good.” Oikawa nods. “I’ll need to keep my collar up at work.” 

“Not necessarily.” Iwaizumi wouldn’t mind people knowing Oikawa’s taken. They know he has someone, but still. The receptionist flirts with him too much. Same with the barista at their local coffee shop, the mailman, anyone who comes into a 5-meter radius. Iwaizumi really can’t blame them, it’s Oikawa after all, who’s awful by not leading them on, but not necessarily turning them down either. 

Oikawa shifts under Iwaizumi’s hands. 

“Does something hurt?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa lets out one laugh. “No.” He angles his head up. Iwaizumi obliges, kissing him again. 

“You’re two different people, honestly. So nice to me in the morning.” There’s a hand in the back of his head that holds Iwaizumi there. Keeps them breathing the same air.

“You wouldn’t like it if I was nice in bed.” Iwaizumi grins.

“I’d be fine with that,” Oikawa insists.

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Tell that to our neighbours.”

Oikawa grimaces. They’ve already been approached on recycling day with pointed whispers.

“Masochist.” 

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t like it if I was nice either.”

“I know.” It’s too fun for both of them to be mean. Pain makes the pleasure sweeter.

“Just saying,” Oikawa says honestly. He pushes himself up to meet Iwaizumi in a kiss again. “We could do everything vanilla and I’d still like it.” 

Iwaizumi hums.

Oikawa gives him a half-assed kick. 

“We can do that if you want,” Iwaizumi says, just to tease.

Sometimes, on the days Oikawa and Iwaizumi are both suffering nostalgia and feeling sappy, they’ll do it vanilla. Easy thrusts, sweet words and holding hands the entire way. It makes Iwaizumi feel like a teenager again, the one that just realized how good sex could be with the right person, with patience and lube. 

“I’m perfectly happy with how we fuck, thank you very much.” 

More commonly, they do something different. There are days when Oikawa ends ass up, face buried in a pillow and screaming as Iwaizumi does his best to ensure he can’t walk the next day. Oikawa likes making Iwaizumi mad so he's punished, likes egging on Iwaizumi until they're both scrambling and desperate and driven by lust. Iwaizumi knows Oikawa loves rough sex.

And kinky sex. Handcuffs, usually on Iwaizumi. Shibari, usually on Oikawa. Not at the same time. Usually. It’s easy for Iwaizumi to slip into dirty talk mixed with praise, which makes edging that much more intense for Oikawa. And dirty talk is too close to degradation for Iwaizumi not to dip in. Scenes that last as long as Oikawa can hold out, or until their limbs are numb from fighting against restraints. 

All in all, their sex lives won’t go stale.

“Got you,” Iwaizumi says. 

Oikawa huffs. He tilts his head up to let Iwaizumi spread the cream over the underside of his jaw. It’s a malleable action that tempts Iwaizumi into just climbing on top of him and refreshing the bruises. He knows he’s right, Oikawa would like the pain. He’d crumble easily. But Iwaizumi’s still hesitant with the fresh shafting on Oikawa’s skin. He doesn’t want to hurt him, contrary to what their neighbours might believe. He doesn’t want to hurt Oikawa unintentionally.

Oikawa closes his eyes as Iwaizumi finishes around his neck. The darker bruises might need extra cream tonight too.

“Other side.” 

Oikawa flips over onto his stomach, arms forming a headrest on top of his pillow. 

“How’s it look?” 

“Not too bad.” There are rope marks on his back, of course, which is where Iwaizumi starts on right away. Oikawa’s thighs are undoubtedly sore.

Oikawa hums. Marks cross his spine, shoulder blades, wrapping around as low as his diaphragm. 

“We used a lot of rope yesterday,” Iwaizumi says. 

“And who’s fault is that?” Oikawa says into his folded arms. 

“You.” Iwaizumi traces one of the more prominent marks. “You wouldn’t stop resisting.” 

Oikawa laughs. “You never do, either.” 

True. They both resist, their pride too strong to just let go right away. But that’s why it’s so much sweeter to break each other. To have them beg. 

Iwaizumi’s fingers rub the cream onto the marks, using his palm to cover all of Oikawa’s skin. 

“What do you want to do today?” Oikawa asks lackadaisical. 

“I’ve got a company report to get ahead on, and that old movie you like is running again in theatres. Wanna go?” 

“Iwa-chan’s asking me on a date?” Oikawa plucks at the sheets. “Hmmm.” 

“We’re fucking engaged.” 

“Oh, right.” 

“Don’t _oh right_ me.” 

Oikawa laughs. “What time?” 

“8 or 10 pm.”

“8,” Oikawa decides. “Let’s get dinner out before.” 

“Oikawa’s asking me on a date?” Iwaizumi mocks. “I don’t know about that.” 

A hand reaches behind Oikawa to swat in Iwaizumi’s direction. 

“Fuck off.” 

“You started it.” 

“You sound like a kindergarten kid.” 

Iwaizumi shakes his head. They’re stupid with each other, he’s well aware, and he wouldn’t change it for anything.

“Done.” Iwaizumi finishes applying the cream to the bottom of Oikawa’s neck. “I’m going to do your hips now.” 

“Okay.” Iwaizumi shifts on the bed, kneeling closer to Oikawa’s hips. He watches the bruises move as he presses cream tentatively onto the skin. It looks like ink from stamp pads, webbing out unevenly.

“Do you want to ice these?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“Do you remember New Years'?” 

On New Year's day, Oikawa had to switch out his white shirt for a black formal so no one could see the bruises on his arms. There was no way they were going to cover it all in concealer, that much, so Oikawa had ironed his black shirt at the last second and taken the scolding from his mother about it being a sub-par choice with his pants. 

Oikawa hadn’t even iced then. He tended to ice only after knife play, if at all. Even then, he just preferred cuddles and tea after properly looking after any cuts. 

“Yeah, but maybe these hurt more. I don’t know.”

Oikawa’s voice is muffled by his arms.

“What?” 

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you is like saying sorry, I want to do this.” It’s a simple routine that fits their relationship. He’s done it for months now. And hopefully for months in the future.

“Still.” Oikawa cranes his neck to look at Iwaizumi. Catch his eyes and make sure Iwaizumi gets the words. “Thank you, really.” 

Honestly, Iwaizumi likes it. He really likes it. It’s like the bruises on Oikawa’s skin, it’s proof Oikawa is his. He’s the only one who does this with Oikawa, to care for him after the pain and paint him with care as much as marks. 

Aftercare is important. Even if their sex isn’t kinky, it can be completely vanilla, but the aftercare is one of the best parts to Iwaizumi. Oikawa admitted he likes it too, of course he does, since he’s the one being pampered most of the time. When he does take care of Iwaizumi, he’s just as dutiful and attentive, checking in almost more frequently and sweet about it. 

It helps them let go more during scenes or rough sex, because they know they’ll put each other back together, and take care of every wound, every ache, anything that hurts. 

In a way, this is sex too. 

“Of course,” Iwaizumi says. He’s done with Oikawa’s hips. “Finished.” 

Oikawa hums. He rolls onto his side, looking at Iwaizumi with a smile. “Give it to me.” 

Iwaizumi hands over the cream. Oikawa takes a dollop and screws on the cap.

He grabs Iwaizumi’s hands. “These are always dry.” Slowly, Oikawa works the cream into his wrists and up to his lower forearms.

“I know, I use the cream but it doesn’t work that well on my hands.” Iwaizumi does try.

“If you didn’t skip days it would be different.”

Iwaizumi grumbles. 

“So grouchy, Iwa-chan.” 

“You were grouchy earlier.” 

Oikawa shrugs, a half-smile on his face. Silence is comfortable with them. Oikawa’s humming, playing with his fingers to take care of them and Iwaizumi wants to find the hourglass of time and just put it on stop. To stay here a little longer, with Oikawa less than an arm's length away and right here, in the same plane of existence with him. 

It’s these moments that feel the most right. 

“There. You need to use the cream more, Iwa-chan.” 

“You’re so bossy,” Iwaizumi rubs his hands together. The cream does help.

“I wouldn’t be if you used it properly.” Oikawa yawns. He glances at the clock once, at Iwaizumi, and then falls back down on the bed. His discarded shirt slides off the sheets and onto the wooden floor. 

Oikawa reaches out his hands to Iwaizumi. 

“Iwa-chan.” Iwaizumi feels himself move to Oikawa when he should be protesting. They have so many things to do. Work, and breakfast, and laundry. 

But Oikawa’s right there, and Oikawa’s all that really matters. 

_Fuck,_ Iwaizumi thinks. _I’m so in love with him._

“Pushover,” Oikawa teases, arms circling around Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi instantly moves away, kicking up the covers to escape Oikawa’s grasp. 

“No, hey, no! Iwa-chan—” Oikawa grabs one of his wrists. “Stay.”

Iwaizumi lies back down next to Oikawa, pulling the covers over them again. “You’re so annoying.”

“You like it,” Oikawa repeats, a hand fishing for Iwaizumi’s. “You like me.” 

Iwaizumi watches their fingers intertwine. Oikawa’s warm, pale ones with Iwaizumi’s rough and dry ones. 

This is what he means by he loves aftercare. He loves the small gestures that are precious, the way appreciating each other comes naturally. It’s amplified after sex, even the morning after. 

He also loves sex. The vanilla days, the days where Oikawa’s throat is raw after, the days where Iwaizumi cries, the days where they test out a new toy. The days where Oikawa is only a canvas, and their love is paint they use to mark, to break and repair each other.

Maybe, it’s not that he loves aftercare, or sex, or all that. Well, he does, but maybe it’s Oikawa. Maybe Oikawa just makes it easy to love those things. Art seems to do that.

Iwaizumi leans over, and kisses Oikawa’s forehead again. “I love you.” 

Oikawa’s eyes are closed, but he squeezes Iwaizumi’s hand. “Love you too.” Iwaizumi sneaks an arm around Oikawa’s waist, leaning into him. 

He falls asleep again with his head resting on Oikawa’s shoulder. His fiancee’s breathing is even, steady puffs against Iwaizumi’s forehead. Their legs are somewhere in the sheets together, ankles hooked together.

It’s peaceful.

**Author's Note:**

> i hated the first draft of this and rewrote it. not sure if i like their characterization still.
> 
> FUCK I LOVE IWAOI SO MUCH
> 
> but fr. aftercare is criminally underrated. it's so important!


End file.
